In the blink of an eye

Everything can change....

I’m getting ready to head out for a run on a sunny Sunday morning in June (2017) with my new running buddy Rob. The day before was my first triathlon of the season and it went so well! I had spent the winter getting up at 4:30 in the morning, 3 days a week and heading over to the YMCA to swim with a triathlon training group. I actually became a pretty decent swimmer. I was excited for the next triathlon in 2 weeks. But today I was just looking forward to hitting the trails for some easy running with a new friend. First I was going to just do a few quick PT exercises for my shoulder. It was feeling much better these days after a few months of physical therapy after a swimming injury. I took PT as serious as any of my athletic training, making sure to do the exercises they showed me at the clinic at home, once or twice a day. I picked up my green stretchy exercise band and put it in the door, as I had been doing for the past 6 weeks. And then my world changed.

It happened so fast I almost can’t remember it. But at the same time I will never forget it. The exercise band slipped out of the door and came charging at me at what felt like 30 mph, like a slingshot to the eye.  I hit the floor, grabbed my eye, screamed and curled into a ball. Everything went black and my stomach lurched as if I would throw up. Michael was eating breakfast in the other room and came running. I turned to look at him, and I remember his words.

“It probably isn’t that bad. Maybe just broken blood vessels.” I tried to stand up, but everything swirled and I got incredibly nauseous.  He stayed calm. I wanted to see it. He walked me to the bathroom mirror and I couldn’t believe what I looked like. My eye was swollen to about 3 times what it should be. How could he look at me and not get sick. I swayed again and he walked me to the bed and I waited. He called 911. Within minutes they arrived. A male and a female.

“Oh. Yeah. You need to go to the emergency room.” The male EMT said. He looked and sounded serious. Another wave of nausea hit me. He was not very comforting. I started to freak out. They went to get the stretcher. I thought of my niece Claire who was an EMT and always told stories about the crazy events that she got called to. I wondered what she would do if she was called to this scene.

“We can drive ourselves. Right, Michael?” I thought about the time. The scene. The cost.

Michael and the female EMT walked me to the car. I remember her asking me to sign something and giving me a paper bag in case I got sick on the ride. I was curled up in a ball. I couldn’t lift my head or the nausea hit me so hard. I don’t remember the ride there but we only lived 5 minutes away. It was a Sunday morning so the ER was pretty quiet. Wheelchair. Questions. It’s all a blur.

They wheel me into the ER and transfer me to a table. It is so quiet. A beautiful Sunday in June. Michael is sitting in chair next to me, holding my hand. I suddenly realize that Rob is probably waiting for me at the trailhead and will be worried if I don’t show up.

“You need to call Rob.” I say, but that is not going to happen right now.

A doctor shows up and asks a few questions. He looks at me, briefly it seems. But he has a calming presence and a nice face, I remember. I am still so nauseous.

“We are waiting for the Optholmologist on call to arrive. He should be here shortly.” The doctor leaves and a nurse comes in.

“I’m really thirsty. Can I have some water please?” My mouth feels like all the moisture has been sucked out by a vacuum.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you anything to drink in case you need to have surgery.”

Surgery. How can this be happening. It was a beautiful morning and I was getting ready to go for a run. I want to cry but it hurts too much and I am so dry that I feel like the tears won’t flow anyway.

I’m not sure how long passes but the nurse reappears with a Q-tip and dips it in water and tells me I can rub it on my gums and in my mouth. It tastes like an ice cold lemonade does on the hottest summer day. And I suck on it as long as I can.

Suddenly a man appears in the room. He is not in a white coat but is wearing khakis and a golf shirt. He introduces himself as the eye doctor. He ask a few questions and says I need to move to the chair across the room that has all the eye exam equipment. I try to sit up but the room spins violently and I am so nauseous. Somehow I manage to make it to the chair but can’t lift my head or the nausea and throbbing is too intense. He tells me I need to try or he can’t examine me.  Somehow I manage to keep my head up and he opens my eye with his hand to look and I keep flinching and closing it.

“I need you to keep your eye open for me to examine you.” I feel like he is yelling at me. I’m trying my best but the pain is intense. He manages to use the machine to get a better look and then tells me I can go back to the table and lie down.

“I’m going to send you for an MRI and then I can see better what we are dealing with. They will come and get you in a few minutes.”

A few minutes pass and they wheel me into the MRI machine. I’ve never had an MRI. Imagine being rolled into a long, dark tunnel, lying on your back, unable see out or around at all. Once in the machine it makes loud, banging noises as it takes pictures.

They roll me out the tunnel and the doctor returns.

“We need to perform surgery, and once I get in there I can see the extent of what we are dealing with. For right now though, I need to stop the internal bleeding.”

His delivery is cold, matter of fact. I have never had surgery. I don’t even know what questions to ask.

“Is this a fairly common surgery? Have you done this before?”

“Well no actually. It is not common. But it is necessary. This is a serious injury.”

I’m completely speechless. I think Michael asked some questions. My head is swirling and I am still so nauseous and am too numb to actually cry or speak.

“I can perform the surgery here now or you can drive 2 or 4 hours south to bigger hospitals and have the surgery there.”

I want to talk to the doctor with the calming presence and the nice face. And then he reappears. He says we do have choices.

“If it were my daughter or wife I would opt to have the surgery here. But you need to do what you are comfortable with.”

I can’t imagine getting in the car and Michael driving for hours and going through all this again, but I am also terrified of having the surgery here, in this tiny hospital, with the doctor that did not sound like he had ever done this kind of surgery. Michael and I talk it out and decide to have the surgery here, now. At this point I don’t remember all that happened. I was wheeled away, prepped for surgery and Michael was somewhere in a waiting room calling my mom.

After the surgery I am sent home with a giant bandage and a metal guard over my eye. I have to “sleep” on my back and come to the office tomorrow for a follow up. I do not recall any of this or getting home. The day started at 8 am and now it is 5 pm and we are leaving.

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